The Mercenary - Chapter 2
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Having failed to work out how to add a chapter to an already published story, I tried to publish chapter 2 separately. That got screwed, and I can't even begin to create a story on my iPad. Don't you love technology! Here, hopefully, is a readable version 2, chapter 2 - Bodie lost, found, and an angry Cowley wanting answers. (I know how he feels!)
Doyle cradled his partner on the back seat as Cowley drove them anxiously across town to where he knew they would find help. On the journey, as Bodie thrashed and shivered, Cowley informed his agent that he could be frank in front of the doctors and tell them anything relevant. Doyle said nothing but Cowley knew he'd heard.

They made good progress across the deserted city and pulled up at a large, anonymous and forbidding Victorian building. As Cowley entered the driveway the front door opened and they were met by an elderly gent with military bearing. He shook hands as Cowley got out of the car. He peered briefly into the back seat to assess his latest patient. Silently he turned on his heel and came back in an instant with a pair of assistants and a guerney. They carefully loaded their patient on it, with Cowley and Doyle trailing after it. The man, who had introduced himself as Dr Bennett, diverted them to a side office and sat them down. No refreshments were offered though Doyle was gagging for a hot drink and some aspirin. Without prompting, Cowley began.

"We believe that Mr Bodie has been fed drugs or poison. He's been missing for about two days."

"Do you know what kind?"

Eyes swiveled in Doyle's direction Exhaustion and anxiety were making concentration difficult. Surely it was their job to assess their patient and work things out for themselves?

"It could be oral or intravenous." That was all Doyle could dredge up - and that was drawing on his police experience with addicts.

"Where there syringes in the room? Where did you find him by the way."

Doyle felt he was in someway betraying his friend; as though Bodie had a dirty secret that was being exposed here. The logical side if his mind told him he was being hysterical.

"He was in a squat and, yeah, there were syringes, but I don't know if they belong …" Doyle trailed off not even wanting to put into words that they 'belonged' to his friend.

The doctor looked at him expectantly. To Doyle's shame, Cowley had the same expectation. He hadn't gathered evidence. He hadn't picked up the needles lying around. His focus had been on getting help for Bodie, and to stop him falling out of a first floor window. It was the Parker experience all over agaIn. Professionalism had been gunned down by emotionalism. Cowley read Doyle's exhausted eyes, but he wouldn't pander to his agent's feelings.

"We'll get them for you. As Mr Doyle says, there's no guarantee that they'll have any connection with Mr Bodie."

The doctor nodded and they all rose to leave. There was nothing more to be said. They shook hands again before getting in the car.

Cowley kept his silence on their journey back to the squat. Anger and self-recrimination were boiling inside Doyle's being, Cowley could have said soothing words; he could have pointed out that the doctors would, even now, be taking blood and urine samples from their patient and assessing his condition, but he let Doyle sweat over it and learn from it. As they neared the area again, Doyle finally exploded, as Cowley hoped he would.

"Stupid!" he exclaimed. He punched the door so hard the car wobbled. Cowley kept to the road and maintained his silence. Doyle's 'sneeze' had been a long while coming. He eventually recognised that they were near their destination.

"I can find evidence myself," he snarled to his boss. "I don't need my hand holding!"

"Oh, and just how did you think you were going to get back there? There'll be no buses at this time of night." He checked his watch. "Early morning," he corrected. "Or were you thinking of taking a taxi and advertising the place in neon lights?!" Cowley was in no good humour to placate his agent. He too had his moods.

Doyle said nothing. There was nothing to say. He'd failed miserably. It was only a chance encounter with a nark that he'd found Bodie at all. Maybe he wasn't fit for purpose any longer. He'd finish the assignment Cowley had given him - to find out who'd been feeding Bodie dope - then reassess where he went from here. He felt he had no right to earn the privileges of a CI5 agent. All this a calmer Cowley read in his agent and understood.

Arriving at a neighbouring road, the pair got out and quietly returned to the building. Cowley saw the wrecked car for the first time and they eased themselves round it to get into the house. They immediately heard a conversation upstairs. They had company. Doyle had registered the creaks on the stairs when he'd gone looking for his mate not that long ago. He'd crept cautiously upstairs, as they were doing now, so as not to disturb anyone. Cowley took his agent's lead and avoided the treads as they were pointed out. He was pleased that Doyle had returned to the mode of top agent on the trail of a spoor. They managed to reach the first floor without being heard. They stood exposed on the landing to listen.

"... well what does it matter that 'e's not 'ere? 'e could be under a bus for all I care. We've done what we've been paid …"

"But what if he talks?"

"Who to? No-one's going to listen to a clunk'ead. What does 'e know anyway? 'e couldn't recognise 'is own muvver the state 'e's in,"

Doyle and his boss exchanged glances. They didn't recognise the voices, but their talk was very revealing. They let them continue - then they'd deal with them. Doyle had a score to settle - and that was a frightening thing - a very frightening thing indeed.

The goons moodily left the room together and were confronted by two men standing silently outside. They swore in shock. As they looked into the cold eyes of the strangers they saw no life there, no humour. But these were clearly not inhabitants of a place like this, particularly the one in the suit. As of one thought they decided to take the older one first by knocking him downstairs, then they could deal with the younger man between them. They launched themselves at Cowley. Doyle grabbed one of the men by the collar and slammed him against the wall. Cowley fended off a blow and punched his man in the guts, and he doubled up with a whoosh of air. He followed in with a karate chop across the neck. The man went down like a sack of potatoes. Doyle meanwhile was cramped in the narrow space of the landing, but could still do damage. 'Always expect your opponent to be armed - even if it is your granny!' Macklin had drilled into them. So, when the man slid a knife from nowhere into his hand, Doyle saw the gleam from the fragile light coming in from the lamppost outside. He too blocked a blow, trampling on the man's foot and grabbing the right hand. There was a crunch of bone and the knife slid to the ground with a roar of pain from the assailant. Doyle let him drop to his knees groaning. He felt white hot anger surging through him but he'd been taught how not to let it overwhelm him. Cowley had his man pinned to the floor. Once he was satisfied that Doyle had got the better of his opponent, Cowley let his prisoner up. He saw naked fear in the young thug's eyes.

"Now," Cowley purred, "You're going to tell me who sent you here and, more importantly, what the drugs are that you've been feeding to a friend of mine."

"I, I don't know nothin', honest."

"Oh dear," Cowley said gently. "That's rather unfortunate. My friend here can get rather cross when people don't co-operate." Cowley moved slightly to the left so that the youth could get a better look at his fallen comrade who was rocking back and forth in serious pain. The sight seemed to mesmerise him.

"I, I was just 'ere to 'elp, mister, honest."

Doyle leaned down so he was eye to eye with the man. "Help with what?" he asked with equal menacing quietness. He'd learnt the trick from the master of threat, Cowley.

The youth looked desperately at his friend, but no aid was going to come from that quarter. The man was panting hard and oblivious to anything beyond his pain-wracked world. At this point Cowley usually told his victims to take their time, but time was not on their side; not if they were going to help Bodie. He needed to turn the screws a bit tighter.

"Doyle here is going to take you for a little stroll in the garden. You may find that you change your mind by the time you've admired the flowers."

The man looked at Doyle's eyes. They were burning with rage. He needed something - or someone - to vent his pent-up feelings on. Admiring the flowers in the moonlight was certainly not on the agenda.

The man turned back to Cowley. It was like choosing between Hannibal or Goebbels as your champion. "Look, we were paid to do a job …"

"Who by?"

Cowley interrupted his agent's line of questioning. There'd be time for that later. "What were you feeding him?"

"I, I don't know. I was, I'm just here for a bit of muscle. But we don't really need it now. The bloke was just waiting for us for 'is next fix like. But I was still being paid, so I come along, see?"

"So it's your companion there who did the injecting?"

"Yeah, 'e's a doctor." This was met with some incredulity. "Well, a student, like."

"So he's got the stuff on him for the next fix?" Doyle tried to keep the keenness from his voice.

The youth was anxious to shift the blame and focus away from himself. "Yeah, yeah. He will 'ave."

Doyle grabbed the injured man and hauled him to his feet. He screamed out in terror of what might be coming his way. Cowley meanwhile got the handcuffs on their 'nark' in case he had any funny ideas of running off. The Cow hadn't done with him yet - not by a long way. As Doyle pinned the terrified medic to the wall, Cowley carefully frisked him. In an inside pocket he felt what first seemed to be a hanky or wadding. He drew it out. By the weak light he unfurled the material carefully to reveal a syringe in all its awfulness. Doyle felt a shiver run through his body. He'd seen these a hundred times in hospitals and in squats like this. But this dose would be forcefully administered; this was Bodie. Doyle's hands immediately drew to the man's throat. He screamed when he saw true murder in the agent's eyes.

"No, lad," Cowley said firmly, laying a soft hand on Doyle's shoulder.

Doyle looked into Cowley's eyes and saw a sadness there. He felt ashamed and withdrew.

"Now," Cowley said, returning his basilisk stare to their prisoner. "I think you're about to tell us about this drug?"

"Yes, yes," screamed the youth, not knowing who he should be more terrified of. "I'm a student. We can get this sort of …"

"What is it?" snarled Doyle.

"Heroin."

"Of course," Doyle exclaimed. He felt they were wasting time.

"We needed to be sure."

Doyle wasn't clear who the comment was aimed at but, having got the vital piece of information, he dragged his prisoner downstairs. Cowley was behind him with his other charge. They were forced to the floor of the car. The Cow wanted to be sure that they didn't recognise where they were going, and soon they were back at the clinic. Doyle was left with their prisoners while Cowley hurried in with the phial. His agent looked at him expectantly from the back seat when the Controller got back in several minutes later.

"Too early to say, lad," Cowley replied to the unasked question, "but they now know the dosage and how pure it is, so that's something for them to work on."

They were driven to HQ. Cowley had radioed ahead to draw in more men and a doctor. Once their captives were settled separately in front of CI5 agents highly trained in interrogation, Cowley took Doyle outside in the corridor for a wee chat.

"Thanks to you, I've been up all night and need to catch up on my beauty sleep. You, too, Doyle. You're barely standing. I don't want to see you here until Wednesday. I'll let you know of any news. I think these two," Cowley nodded towards the cells, "will be singing all day and all night. I think we'll have a job to shut them up!"

"Are you sure I can't help stimulate their imaginations, sir?"

"I think we've both given them nightmares for some time to come. No, laddie, you're going home and I'm going to take you there,"

The anger and fear that had been coursing through Doyle's veins was draining away and he felt sick with fatigue. Cowley was right, as usual, and he didn't kick up a fuss as he was driven away. Cowley had a job to wake him when they arrived back at his flat.

"Wednesday," Cowley reminded him. That gave him three days off, counting today. Then he'd be fit for purpose again. Soon Bodie would be joining him, getting up his nose, and boasting of his latest conquests. Doyle couldn't wait.


End file.
